


Can You Please Shut Up?

by RAINMAK3R



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, It's pretty tame though, M/M, Neighbors, Sass, Slow Burn, Swearing, Violence, i know nothing about vicodin it’s all from webmb, idiots falling in love, jj is a dick as usual, prompts, references to the boxes, the prompt actually isn’t the main focus of the story whoops, the spidey-sense is great but has shit timing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:39:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAINMAK3R/pseuds/RAINMAK3R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off the prompt: "neighbors au where person A goes over to person B to tell B to ‘stop singing karaoke it’s 2am.'" Or where Peter is writing an editorial, Spiderman and Peter are two different people in terms of Wade’s understanding, and Peter adores his coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can You Please Shut Up?

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't really written scenes with violence before, so I hope they're halfway decent. Tiny bits of gore but I don't think it's enough to put on a content warning.

Peter’s tried to ignore it. He really, really has. 

The music is just too damn loud. 

Maybe he should be used to it, in the past four years of college, he's been to more outrageously loud clubs than is probably healthy, and has gotten into some deafening battles with villains. Peter should really be taking better care of his ears. 

He went for a physical the other month and his doctor looked at him worriedly and told him if he kept whatever activities up he might be deaf by the time he hits thirty. Which isn't a pleasing thought. So, Peter makes up for it in other ways. He rarely listens to music with headphones jammed in his ears, and if he does, he makes sure it's below the halfway mark on the volume counter. He tries to stay home more, unless the city calls for Spiderman, so Peter, minus the web-slinging gig, lives a pretty quiet life. 

Well, if the fact that his good-for-nothing neighbor always blasts their music at all hours of the night, especially, it seems, after Peter gets back from patrolling the city. It's almost like that one time Peter accidentally bumped into his neighbor moving in, that, whoever the person underneath all those layers and a tightly drawn hoodie is, is getting back at him. 

And, jeez does it suck. 

In particular, it's a Monday night, and J.J. has just assigned - he can't even believe it, J.J. assigned Peter a story like he doesn't trust Peter to be able to go out and find news worth reporting - a story on the city’s newest Menace with a capital M, Deadpool. 

To make matters worse, Peter works with Deadpool. Well, not “works” but teams up with. And, not “Peter” but Spiderman. Spiderman teams up with Deadpool. Scratch that, “teams up with” is “barely tolerates.” Spiderman barely tolerates Deadpool. Ah, yes. Much better. 

(Well, they get along fine but sometimes Deadpool is just a tad bit too antagonizing with the whole “un-aliving” thing, and he keeps making comments about Peter’s - Spiderman’s - ass, but they’re friends, Peter supposes.)

But the music vibrating through Peter’s walls is really giving him a run for his money, sleep wise, considering he has to be up in five hours, so he decides that it’s time to confront his neighbor.

So he walks to his front door and just pauses, for a moment, leaning his head on the door, relishing the support it gives him, and Peter didn’t realize until just now how especially tired he is from work today (yesterday?) and going on that patrol with Deadpool.

He opens his door and walks a few feet down until he’s in front of 6B, and knocks on the door. The music is still blaring, and he’s pretty sure he can make it out to be a Salt-N-Pepa song when the door opens.

And there in full regalia, is Deadpool, singing Shoop. “Can I get some fries with that shake-shake boobie, if looks could kill you would be an uzi…”

It’s as if time stops. Peter knows his eyes widen, but he can’t help it. He lives next to Deadpool. He, Peter Parker, aka Spiderman, lives next to Deadpool. The guy is always joking about finding out where he lives. 

Peter needs to move. Except, he can’t afford it and that would be suspicious and he can’t put Aunt May in danger, plus, this place has central air conditioning and isn’t far from the Daily Bugle, so ixnay on the moving.

Then Deadpool speaks, and Peter is brought out of his shock.

“I’m pretty sure that when you order pizza, your delivery guy is supposed to have the pizza with him.” Deadpool says, leaning against the doorway.

“Why would you just assume that?” Peter retorts, and tries to peer around Deadpool to see what his apartment looks like. It’s a bit messy, and there’s a large pool of blood on what looks to be the living room carpet.

“That you’re a guy? Whoops, sorry. What’re your pronouns? Prefered name?”

“No,” Peter rubs a hand through his hair, “that I’m a pizza delivery guy, especially since I don’t have pizza?”

“I ordered pizza a half hour ago and it’s still not here.”

“Deadpool, it’s two in the morning. Not many places are open.”

“You know my name! Are you a fan, is that why you’re here?” Deadpool suddenly starts muttering to himself, “Yeah, I’ve been careful about showing people where I live. No, I haven’t slept with him, I’d remember that gorgeous face.”

Peter, his face betraying him, blushes, but Deadpool doesn’t notice, and continues on. “That’s not fair, if he’s a stalker. I’d have to kill him and-”

“Woah, woah,” Peter stops him there, holding his hands up in surrender, “I’m not a stalker. I’m your neighbor. I live in 6C, and I just came over to ask if you could turn down the music, or maybe off? If that’s okay. I just, I need to be up in the morning and I’ve been so tired and-” Peter surprises himself with a yawn, and covers his mouth, “and my boss will have my ass if I’m not there on time so...” he trails off.

“Why didn’t you say something? Dude, I’m sorry.” Deadpool turns and retreats into his apartment, and Peter follows him, surprised at his apology. Deadpool moves to the speakers where an iPod is resting, lowers the volume. “I get carried away, after missions and patrols with web-head, uh, Spiderman, and I like it when my weapons look good, so I clean them after each mission, and while it’s gratifying, it’s super boring, y’know? So, I blast some music to make it go quicker, but if it’s really bugging you, I’ll keep it low.”

“My doctor thinks I’ll be deaf by the time I’m thirty.” Peter says, not thinking. He sits on the couch in the living room, and swears that he sees Deadpool’s brows furrow.

“Uh huh. Well, that settles it, not everyone has super advanced healing skills like yours truly, so consider the music problem solved.”

“Thanks.” Peter mumbles, and stands, swaying slightly. “‘M gonna go to bed now. I appreciate it. Sound.” He walks to the door and flutters a wave to Deadpool, who returns it, and closes the door behind him.

He gets back to his apartment, tosses himself on his bed, and falls asleep instantly.

 

* * *

 

When Peter wakes up the next morning, the alarm is blaring, and he feels extremely groggy. Five hours are better than nothing, he supposes, and gets ready for work. 

By the time he’s at his desk an hour later, Peter’s nursing a cup of coffee, halfway through his analysis on Deadpool, ready to fall asleep again. He needs to start getting more sleep. J.J. calls him into his office, and Peter goes, inhaling deeply and mentally preparing himself for a scolding.

“So,” J.J. starts, “I’ve been reading your article on Deadpool, and what’s this shit on Deadpool being good? He kills people!”

“Not recently.” Peter interjects, thinking of how he and Deadpool have been going on patrols and there haven’t been any deaths, and immediately regrets it.

“How the fuck would you know that? Just because you’re able to get pictures of that Spiderman-” J.J. says with disgust clear in his voice, “doesn’t mean you have insight into that psycho’s mind. Don’t assume shit, that’s what gets you fired. This isn’t an article that’s supposed to make Deadpool into a hero, he’s a villain, and Spiderman’s worse for working with him. Make the article negative.”

Peter figures that one day, he’ll give J.J. the bird and tell him to fuck off, but he has bills to pay and so he just says, “Okay. That all you needed me for or should I go back to work?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out sort of snarky, but that’s what happens, and J.J. whirls on him.

“Watch your mouth, Parker.” His voice is thunderous, and Peter all but scampers out to avoid the wrath of J.J.

He sits at his computer for a while, attempting to paint Deadpool as a Menace, and failing, and instead beings typing out how Deadpool is changing, _is trying_ , and gets two pages deep before his spidey-sense sends a slight throbbing to the base of his skull, and sees J.J. sweep out of his office to check on all the reporters, and Peter pulls up a blank document and quickly types out a page of, admittedly bullshit, on why Deadpool is a Menace. J.J. strides over to Peter, skims over his work, and nods.

“Keep it up.” Peter nods dumbly, mutters his thanks, and as soon as J.J. rounds the corner, closes the document and continues working on reasons why Deadpool is good. And a separate checklist of things to get squared away so he can quit and go to a better newspaper.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Spiderman and Deadpool are hanging out. It’s their bi-weekly Taco Tuesday, and they’re sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned factory, eating and talking.

“So,” Deadpool starts, munching through his taco, “I met my neighbor last week.”

“Oh?” Peter offers, taking another bite of his food.

“Yeah. He’s really pretty. Brown hair, browner eyes, I could _swoon_.” Peter laughs. “Anyways, he comes over as I’m cleaning my guns and katanas out, right, and just asks me if I can turn my music down, looking dead on his feet, and damn it if I didn’t. And I love my music.”

“I know you do.” Peter says, finishing his taco and rolling his mask back down from its resting place on his nose. 

“Mhm. And you know what’s strange? He didn’t really react to the fact that I’m his neighbor.”

“Were you in costume?” Peter asks.

“Yeah. Must’ve been really tired. If I were him, I would’ve freaked out.”

“Yeah, it’s not every day you find out you live next to a mercenary. You’re frightening in that suit.” Peter says.

“Hey!” Deadpool protests, “Former mercenary. And I know, trust me, baby boy.”

“And I’m _so_ proud of you.” 

“I don’t need your sass, Spider-babe.”

“Yet here you are.” Peter quips.

“True. But it’s weird how he didn’t react.”

“The guy was probably dead on his feet, Deadpool. I know I’m always wiped out after we’re done patrolling.”

“Aw, I didn’t know I had such an effect on you.” Deadpool says, clasping both hands over his heart.

“You’re such an asshole.” Peter says, and stands.

“I’m your asshole, remember that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waves a gloved hand at him. “I’m gonna go. I’ll see you Thursday for patrol, then?”

“You betcha, bubble butt.” Deadpool snaps his gloved fingers at him, making finger guns, and stands as well, and gives Peter a wave, steps to the ledge, and drops off the roof.

Peter rolls his eyes, and swings away.

 

* * *

 

Thursday night rolls around, and it’s just Peter’s luck that Deadpool hasn’t showed up yet, and there’s mugger who’s turned their attention from their target to Peter. The alley is crowded, and the mugger’s victim scampers off, leaving Peter to deal with the man.

The man is holding a sharpened switchblade - Peter’s _favorite_ \- and lunges at him. Peter ducks out of the way, and makes to grab the mugger’s left arm and twist it behind him, but the mugger recovers quickly from the fumble, and flicks out the blade and catches Peter’s shoulder, tearing through his suit and skin. His spidey-sense screams alarm, but he doesn’t react in time. The man swings and lands a painful blow to Peter’s jaw, and the pain radiates throughout his head into his ear. Peter swings his left hand back, favoring his right, and punches the man in the chest. The man loses his footing, and reaches out to a dumpster to steady himself. 

Peter grits his teeth through the pain, and focuses in on the torn skin on his right shoulder. The cut is deep, and he can feel the blood rushing out of the cut. He can handle this, he tells himself. Peter’s spidey-sense is throbbing as he reacts further, and reels back for a punch to the mugger’s gut. The blow lands in its intended area, and the mugger stumbles back, the air momentarily knocked out of him. Peter advances forward, shoots out a line of webbing, and manages to yank the switchblade out of the mugger’s grasp. He throws the webbing with the blade still attached far over his shoulder.

“There’s no chance you’re gonna get tied up quietly, is there.” Peter complains, and the mugger, to his credit, grunts and charges at Peter. Peter shoots a web up at the fire escape almost too conveniently located above him and pulls himself up, but _uh oh_ , the mugger has lept up and grabbed Peter’s ankle and where’s Deadpool when you need to get rid of a pesky bug?

That right there is proof that he and Deadpool have been hanging out too much, Peter’s now adopting aspects of his personality.

He shakes his leg, and his right arm twinges in pain, and-

“Oh, hey, baby boy, sorry I’m late, oh, who’s this little shit?” Deadpool announces, dropping from above Peter on the fire escape, grabbing the mugger as he goes down, sending the mugger crashing into the ground. Peter drops off the webbing, landing as gracefully as he can, and watches Deadpool kick the mugger in the stomach, once, twice, and a third time, “Just for good measure.”

“Thanks.” Peter heaves, and webs up the man, who groans out in pain. “That’s what you fucking get. Just-” he motions at Deadpool, “leave him here? The asshole deserves to spend the night out here.”

“Sounds fine by me.” Deadpool responds. “I am sorry that I didn’t get here in time. Someone was getting robbed and I had to teach them a lesson.”

“It’s fine.” Peter tells him, feeling light-headed. “I handled it. Also, I think I’m gonna puke.”

He pulls up his mask, leans over, and does just that. Deadpool is by his side, rubbing his back. 

“Wanna come back to my place?” He inquires.

“You’re going to have’ta take me out first.” Peter says, then thinks of his arm and his head throbs, and he _really_ wants to lay down. “Actually, that sounds really good. Stitch me up?”

“Yeah.” Deadpool nods, and they head to Deadpool’s apartment.

 

* * *

 

It’s now been twice that Peter’s been inside of Deadpool’s apartment, and both of these times have involved Peter’s head being in a not-so-good state.

Deadpool gives Peter a push towards the couch, and since Peter is more awake and aware than last time, he notices that it’s a plush maroon couch that he can and absolutely sinks into. He may or may not have let out a breathy moan after the fact. The whole apartment is much cozier than he would’ve thought to give Deadpool. It’s painted in warm tones of beige and has nice thick blankets and throw pillows and it’s messy, but it suits Deadpool.

“This couch is the shit.” Peter says.

“I think so too.” Deadpool says. “Vicodin?”

“Please.” Peter says, and doesn’t even bother looking up as he catches the bottle that Deadpool throws at him from the kitchen. He hears Deadpool mutter, “Show-off” but ignores it. He rolls up his mask and dry swallows the pills, regretting it when his throat constricts unhappily. Deadpool returns from the kitchen with a smaller than average first-aid kit.

“Why’s it so small?”

“Aw, Spidey, you really know how to kill a guy’s self-esteem. Besides, you should know, it’s not about the size of the boat. It’s about the motion in the ocean.” Deadpool remarks.

“I would say I hate you, but you’ve given me vicodin, and you’re gonna patch me up, so I’m gonna ignore that.” Peter says, and settles further into the couch. Damn, he could just melt into it.

“Anyways,” Deadpool continues, “I haven’t stitched anyone, or myself, up in a while because of the healing factor and the general repulsion of people to me. So, if you get a scar from this, you only have yourself to blame.”

“Deadpool.” Peter says, and the vicodin must be kicking in, because he feels kind of light-headed, but continues on regardless, “Scars only build character. They show that you’re stronger than whatever hurt you.”

“I wish I could believe that.” He responds, and takes the rubbing alcohol out from the kit, pours some onto a rag, and pats it on Peter’s gash. Peter hisses, and furrows his brows underneath his mask. Then, Deadpool takes suture thread and guides it through the eye of the needle. He tugs the needle through Peter’s skin and Peter lays still, eyes closed as he listens to the slow, steady breathing of Deadpool.

“This is pretty intimate.” Peter speaks up.

“I thought the most intimate thing was to put a dick up somebody’s butt, but - ha ha, butt but - we all different perceptions of intimate.” Deadpool sounds tired, Peter realizes.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I… I invited myself over, and I’m making you stitch me up. You should be asleep. I should be asleep. You feel insecure about yourself. That’s not cool.”

“I don’t do anything I don’t want to, Spiderman. And, I just have to deal with my skin. It sucks, but I’ll work through it. Eventually.”

The vicodin has definitely kicked in at this point, because Peter swears he can see little white and yellow boxes floating around Deadpool’s head.

“What’re the, uh, boxes?”

“What?” Deadpool sounds surprised.

“They’re floating ‘round your head.” Peter lazily points with his left hand.

“They’re a side effect of Weapon X.”

“That’s the project… program thingy that turned you unhappy?” Peter asks.

“Basically. Honestly, I wouldn’t care if people saw my face, but it’s better they don’t. I’m just as ugly on the outside as my insides are because of it.” He finishes stitching up the wound, and wraps gauze around it. Peter murmurs his thanks.

“Deadpool.”

“Wade Wilson. Call me Wade.” Wade says.

“ _Wade_ ,” Peter repeats, lifting his left hand to rest on the cheek of Wade’s mask before Wade lightly shakes it off. Peter returns his hand to his side. “You’re not ‘gly on the inside. Jus’ needs some TLC, y’know? And, I can’t take ‘ff my mask. Gotta make sure I stay secret. My name, too. Gotta pr’tect my aunt. She can’t be worrying ‘bout me, running off at all hours of the night to fight baddies, y’know?”

“I understand. Maybe one day we’ll both see each other’s faces and I’ll know your name. How’s that sound?” Wade inquires. He pats Peter on the shoulder.

“Sounds… good.” Peter mumbles. Wade pulls a blanket off the back of the couch and places it onto Peter.

“Sleep tight, baby boy. Leave whenever.”

“Thanks, Wade.” Peter falls asleep soon after that.

 

* * *

 

Peter wakes up early, and throws the blanket off him. He doesn’t see Wade anywhere, so he folds up the blanket and places it on the back of the couch. He finds a piece of paper and writes out a note that reads:

_Wade;_

_Thanks for letting me crash on the couch, and stitching me up. I appreciate it. Let me pay for tacos next Tuesday, okay? Get as many as you want. Don’t forget that TLC, okay? You’re worth it._

_SM_

Peter slips out of the window and crawls into his apartment through his own window, where he looks at the clock, _seven-thirty, shit, gonna be late for work,_ and fumbles around in his bathroom, taking a quick shower while brushing his teeth and cursing as he exits the shower and sees a large purple and yellow bruise forming.

He towels off, slips into some regular clothes, grabs his messenger bag, and all but sprints out the door.

And runs into Wade. In full costume, again.

“Hi, neighbor!” Deadpool says, sounding much more chipper than the previous night.

“Hi, uh, Deadpool.” Peter quickly says.

“What happened to you?” Wade asks, pointing at the blossoming bruise.

“I got into a bar fight. Dumb, right? Well, I gotta get to work or-”

“Or your boss will have your ass if you’re not there on time. Right?”

“Yeah.” Peter says, feeling guilty. “Don’t wanna seem like I’m blowing you off. Wanna get drinks later?”

“You must’ve gotten really conked on the head if you’re serious.”

“I did, but I am serious. I’ll buy, too.”

“Sounds good. Tonight at eight, St. Mary’s?” Deadpool says.

“Yeah.” What the hell, Peter figures. “I’m Peter.” He sticks out his hand, which Deadpool shakes.

“Wade.”

“Nice to meetcha, Wade.” And he leaves for work, grinning. 

 

* * *

 

When Peter meets Wade at St. Mary’s, Wade is dressed in civilian clothing, yet still has his Deadpool mask and gloves on for drinks. 

Peter greets him with a half-handshake, half-hug, and orders a beer, while Wade orders a rosé.

“Cheers to the author.” Wade says, smiling beneath his mask.

“Whatever that means.” But Peter is all grins. They clink together their glasses.

“Rosé?” Peter inquires after a moment.

“What can I say,” Wade replies, “I like my dessert wines. I like my dessert, in general.” He pulls his mask up to his nose and takes a sip of his wine, making kissy sounds.

“Really, you’re such a connoisseur of wine?” 

“You bet.” Wade laughs, and takes another sip of his wine. “So, tell me about this boss of yours.”

“Are you sure?” Peter questions. “He’s such an asshole and talking about him would ruin this date.”

“Date? Oh, Petey, I'm flattered. And you should know I live to complain and hear people complain. Tell me about him.” Wade says. 

“Well, I work at the Daily Bugle-”

“Wait, you're _that_ P. Parker? The one that gets all those shots of Spiderman? You've written a few editorials about him, too.” 

Peter thinks for a moment that he's perhaps gotten in over his head, but remembers that he and Spiderman are still separate entities, so it's fine. 

“I do. And I have. You already seem to know about that though.”

“I always keep tabs on that bubble-butt. I may or may not have a crush on him. He's a good person, and even though he admonishes me quite a bit, we get along well, and I'm glad we're able to work together.” 

“Do I smell some competition?” Peter takes a swig of his beer and sets it down again. 

“Perhaps.” Peter laughs at this. 

“So,” he continues on, “let me tell you about J.J.”

“I can't wait to hear all about this man.”

“You won't be able to if you keep interrupting me.”

“Fine, fine.” Wade concedes. “Tell me all about him. Especially his weak points.”

“Wade!” Peter exclaims, lightly pushing the older man. “Okay, so…” And he talks and talks and talks, with Wade interjecting every so often with a snarky comment or sarcastic joke. They wind up ordering another round, and before they know it, it’s almost eleven, so Peter pays their tab, and they begin to walk home.

It’s a nice night for walking, and Peter decides to be brave.

“If I want to hold your hand - is that okay to do?”

“Definitely.” Wade says, and slips his hand through Peters’. They walk in a comfortable silence, and as they approach their apartment building, Peter begins to wonder what will happen after this, with Deadpool and Wade and Spiderman.

He’s soon jerked out of these thoughts with their arrival onto their floor.

Wade has held his hand the whole way home, which makes Peter feel all sorts of giddy. They pause outside of Peter’s door, still holding hands. Wade glances over his shoulder at the door behind Peter. 

“This is your stop, Petey.”

Peter can't help it. He leans up to Wade, and kisses the mask, right where the lips would be. Wade presses his face forward briefly, then breaks their pseudo-kiss. 

“I had a great time tonight, Wade.” 

“Me too.” Wade says.

“We’ll do this again soon?” Peter asks, hopeful.

“I’d like that very much.” Wade says, and Peter can see him smile through the mask. “Goodnight, Peter.”

“Goodnight, Wade.” Wade turns around, walks to his door, unlocks it, and enters his apartment.

Peter unlocks his own apartment, gets ready for bed, and falls asleep content in the knowledge that his date was a success. 

 

* * *

 

Taco Tuesday hits, and true to his word, Peter buys Wade all the tacos he can eat, which at this particular moment, happens to be fifteen. They sit in Central Park, on a bench secluded by shrubs and other trees.

“Oh my God, Wade, do you have a bottomless pit for a stomach?” 

“You should hope not, Spidey-boy, because you just spent thirty-seven dollars on tacos, and in hindsight, you shouldn’t have offered to buy them in the first place.” Wade says, crunching through his fifth taco.

“What, you think I can’t afford it?”

“Baby boy, I know you can’t. You’re probably spending whatever paycheck from whatever job on costume repairs and rent. You’ve seen my apartment building, Nice place, not too far from anything really, but this is the city we’re talking about. The rent isn’t bad either, and that’s considering I have enough money to last me into the next few lifetimes, which is entirely plausible.”

“You trying to get me to move in with you or something, Wade? Because although I’m honored that you’d want me as your bunk mate, but we’re not that close.”

“Aw, Spidey, after all I’ve done for you? Stitched you up, eaten the tacos you’ve so graciously bought for me?”

“You haven’t even finished the tacos, and plus, your burps are obnoxious.” 

Wade burps at him in response.

“You’re gross.” Peter says, meaning it in a lighthearted manner.

“So I’ve been told.” Wade responds, understanding Peter’s intended meaning. “I went on a date my neighbor, turns out he’s Peter Parker, the one who always takes pictures of you. You know him, right?”

“I do. We have an, uh, agreement with regards to the photos. How’d the date go?”

“It went, surprisingly, really well. He kissed me.”

“He saw your face?” Peter feigns surprise.

“No. He kissed me through the mask. Maybe one day he’ll see my face. Peter already saw my jaw, because we went out for drinks.”

“You’ve known him for less time than me, and have already invited him out for drinks? Wade, I’m hurt.” Peter clutches at his heart.

“Face it, baby boy, you’ve got competition.” Wade smirks.

“Holy shit. This guy must be something.” Peter observes.

“I think he really is.” Wade confesses, and Peter’s heart seizes. Wade likes him, no, Wade _like likes_ him. 

He _like likes_ Wade back. 

Shit.

“Well, I don’t think anything else is really gonna happen tonight, so you wanna call it a night?” Peter asks.

“Sounds good. I got a date to plan anyways. Hey - since you’re more familiar with Peter, what do you think he’s like?”

“Ice cream.” Peter replies instantaneously. “He’s a sucker for anything sweet.”

“That how you keep him, buying him ice cream in return for sweet pics?”

“Yup.” Peter says, popping the ‘p’.

“Thanks.” Wade says, and squeezes Peter’s shoulder, walks through the trees, and disappears into the night.

“Night, Wade!” Peter calls, knowing he’s gone.

 

* * *

 

They go out in the afternoon the next time, to The Plum, a purple ice cream shop that has everything from gelato to ices and frozen yogurt to ice cream.

Peter orders his usual, pistachio in a sugar cone, and watches as Wade, again in the mask and gloves, stalks around the shop, seriously considering all his options. He finally settles on rocky road in a large cup, pays for them both, and explains, 

“Because that’s what my life and face is like.”

“Ha ha, funny.” Peter says, taking a seat on the table outside. Wade sits across from him, and rolls his mask up to his nose, and begins eating his ice cream. In between bites, Wade asks,

“So, how’s the bar-fight bruise doing?” Peter touches the bruise briefly, and it tinges only a bit, having receded in pain and color to a light yellow and spots of crimson. He thinks of the healing cut on his shoulder, and is pleased when he brushes over it to find that it doesn’t hurt as much as he would’ve expected.

“It’s doing its thing. I’m trying to be careful to not touch it or anything, because that’s just a pain. How’s Spiderman doing?” He asks in return.

“He’s fine. Thought you’d have more contact with him, but I think he’s jealous of our relationship. Or perhaps the fact that he has competition.”

“Spiderman, jealous of me? Wow.” Peter says. “And… relationship? Not complaining, but we’ve only been on one date.”

“I call ‘em like I see ‘em, Petey. Also, your ass looks great in those jeans, so I’m gonna try to convince you to stay with this butterface.”

“I don’t think your face is that bad.” Peter protests.

“You haven’t seen the rest of it. My whole body is like this - even my dick! Which is such a shame but I have a quick refractory period, so that makes up for it, I suppose.” Wade shrugs, and scrapes the bottom of his cup.

“Slow down, Wade, we’re not there yet. But, if you’d like, I’d like to be with your butterface, even after one and a half dates.” Peter, in turn, finishes his cone, and throws the wrapper away. He takes Wade’s empty cup and spoon, and throws it away as Wade stands to join Peter, rolling down his mask as he does so. 

“Shall we?” Peter offers up his arm, and Wade loops his own through it. 

“This is good.” Wade says, perhaps mostly to himself, but Peter responds to it anyway.

“This is very good. I’d say, great, even.”

“Oh, wow, moving up the ranks.” Wade wrinkles his nose under the mask, and Peter notices how expressive the mask is.

“You are. Maybe I’ll invite you into _my_ apartment, and let you complain about me and my karaoke.”

“Peter, you don’t even sing! Let alone blast music like I do. Did. Have you noticed that I don’t play the music as loudly?”

“You don’t know that I don’t sing! But anyways, I have noticed. Thanks for that. I’m still not getting bed early enough because of the editorial, but that’s fine. It’s only another few weeks than it’ll be done.”

“What’s it about?” Wade inquires.

_Shit_. “You?” Peter ventures. “J.J. told me that I have to do a piece on why you’re one of the newest Menaces with a capital M, and of course I know that you aren’t a Menace, and neither is Spiderman, but I don’t need to lose my job. I just need a few more weeks to work on it, not publish it, and quit, and move to another newspaper.”

“If you need to get negative, I can handle it, Peter. If it means keeping your job.”

“Wade, I want to quit the Bugle. I don’t want to go negative. I want the freedom to write what I want and take pictures of Spiderman and whatever else might interest me.”

“Well, that’s awful sweet of you.” Wade responds, and bumps Peter’s shoulder with his own as they round the corner onto their apartment building’s block. They amble up the front walk, and get into the elevator, blissfully alone.

Peter speaks up first.

“So, dinner next week? Or brunch? On Saturday?”

“Brunch sounds good. I could swear that you’re trying to woo me with food. You and Spidey both.”

“Well, that depends. Is it working?” Peter smiles almost coyly as the elevator doors open.

“Yes.” Wade responds. “In both cases. But don’t worry. I’m only dating you. Not web-head.”

“I’m not worried.” Peter assures him, and stops in front of Wade’s door, their arms still entangled.

“You seem very confident.”

“I am. Can you lift your mask up?”

“All the way?” Wade sounds nervous now, and he separates their arms. “I don’t… I’m not ready for you to see this butterface yet.”

“No, no. Just up to your nose. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.” Wade rolls up the mask, and Peter tilts his head up, moving into Wade’s space, plants his hands on either side of the mask, and kisses Wade. Wade moves his hands to Peter’s hips, and kisses him back, tongue drawing along the seam of Peter’s lips, who opens his mouth in response. They stand there, kissing, and Peter angles his head to gain a deeper access to Wade’s mouth, and wraps his arms around Wade’s neck. 

Wade breaks their kiss. “If we don’t stop kissing now, I cannot guarantee the next actions I’ll take in regards to,” he motions to them, “this.”

“Okay.” Peter agrees, and kisses him softly, before exiting their embrace and allowing Wade to enter his apartment. “I’ll see you later.”

“See you soon.” Wade says, and closes the door. Peter feels like he’s floating on air, he’s so content. Life is good. Really shaping up.

 

* * *

 

Deadpool’s sitting on the roof of their apartment building, and Peter’s coming back from a mission as Spiderman, and decides to swing over to Deadpool and join him.

“Hey, Wade.” Peter greets.

“Hey, Spidey.” He sounds somber.

“Why the sad tone?”

“Peter kissed me.” Wade is monotone as he says it. 

“That’s great! Wait, you’re making a face like that isn’t great... Why isn’t that great?” Peter inquires, curious.

“Because, what if he sees my face, or decides I’m too much to handle? He’s good to me. He’s good for me, and I don’t want to fuck it up. I’ve fucked so many things up in my life, and he’s something that shouldn’t be messed up. And you, too, Spidey. You’re there for me and you listen to my insecurities and everything, and I know that Thanksgiving isn’t for two months, but I’m grateful you’re both in my life.”

Peter softens at this as he sits down next to Wade. “I’m glad I have you, too. I’m sure Peter is too.”

“Thanks.” Wade grabs Peter’s hand, and they sit there, staring at the moon. Even through the multiple layers of fabric, Peter can feel the warmth of Wade’s hand.

“I feel safe with you.” Peter admits, looking down at their intertwined hands. Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind. “We're not something, but we're not nothing, either.” Peter’s heart starts hammering in his chest. _Why did he say that_? He's going to fuck this all up because of a lack of brain-to-mouth filter. Wade doesn't pull his hand away. 

“I'd agree with you.” Wade tells him, voice almost a whisper. “But I'm dating Peter, and I couldn't betray him like that.”

“What if you didn't have to?” Peter says, brain-to-mouth filter malfunctioning again. He pushes his face forward, and their masks meet in what would be a kiss. Peter breaks it a moment after, and stutters an, “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have.”

“Baby boy…” Wade trails off softly. “I'm sorry, too. I can't.” He gives Peter’s hand a quick squeeze and let’s go. “We should just stick with the professional shit.” Wade stands, and drops down the fire escape. 

Peter's really fucked things up now. He slips down the fire escape ten minutes later, crawls through his window, shucks off his costume, feeling guilty. 

He falls asleep with his stomach in knots. 

 

* * *

 

Peter's woken up with a fierce banging on his front door, and gropes for his phone and clicks it on, the white numbers displaying the time four-thirty-three. He's gotten maybe four hours of sleep, but it feels like only minutes have passed. 

Peter puts on a tee-shirt, which covers his still healing cut, and walks to the front door, and pulls it open to see Wade in a baggy grey shirt and black sweatpants with cat socks and crocs, mask on, looking worried. 

“Can I come in?” Peter's stomach further contorts, and he presses a hand to it, trying to reassure it. 

“You know brunch isn't til Saturday, right? And that happens mid-morning when the sun is up. Not mid-morning four-am type of deal.” Peter tries to be lighthearted. He isn't sure if he can deal with Wade spilling out his feelings without Peter confessing that he's Spiderman. _Shit_. Where's his costume? Did he put it away? Is it on the floor? Is the bedroom door closed? He motions Wade in, and takes a moment to confirm that, yes, his bedroom door is closed. Good.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat? You can make yourself at home - the couch is right there.” Peter pulls Wade to the couch, not waiting for a response. They sit, Peter cross-legged, Wade slouched at a three-quarter angle to face Peter as he rests with his back nestled into the space where the back of the couch meets the arm.

“I was talking to Spiderman a couple of hours ago, and he kissed me. Through the masks. No actual lips were touched.” Wade makes the short, choppy statements in a worried tone. “And I didn't initiate the kiss, because we're dating, but before he kissed me, he said that he and I weren't something, but we weren't nothing and I agreed with him, but I told him I can't because of you and me and I don't want you to be angry with me and-”

“I'm not angry with you. I honestly don't know if I could ever be.” Peter cuts Wade off, and he says it as the Peter who knows Wade as Deadpool and Spiderman who knows Deadpool is Wade. But Wade doesn’t know it.

“I'm, just for the sake of this, going to call bullshit because I can get really tough to deal with. And I’m too much, sometimes. I have a lot of insecurities and shit because of the skin, and if I get surprised there’s not telling if I’d pull a gun on you or not. I’m dangerous.”

“I understand.” Peter shifts on the couch, and slings an arm over the back of the couch.

“So you get why this has to end.”

“Wait, Wade!” Peter exclaims. “Sure, you’re dangerous, and sure, you’ve got issues, but don’t we all? That doesn’t mean we should end it! Least before it’s really begun - we have to give us a shot.”

“Peter.” The way Wade says it, so full of regret, almost breaks Peter’s heart. “I can’t.”

“You don’t get to tell me that. Not after all this. You can’t waltz into my life and decide to call it quits because of Spiderman, because of danger. I can handle myself. I can handle you.”

“I- I don’t know.” Wade confesses.

Peter tilts forward. “Just kiss me. Just kiss me and let’s make up. I don’t want to lose you.”

So Wade unfurls himself from his niche in the couch, rolls his mask to his nose, and kisses Peter, hands resting on Peter’s still-crossed knees, Peter just holding the cords of Wade’s sweatshirt.

“You mean so much to me. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Wade murmurs, breath warm against Peter’s cheek. Peter just kisses him again, hoping the connection of their lips is enough to tell Wade the words he can’t yet say.

He thinks Wade knows what he means, because Wade pulls him into his arms, and they lay there, nestled in the couch, and fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

When Peter wakes up, he panics, bolting up off the couch too fast, causing his head to spin. _Wade is gone_ , he thinks, but then he smells pancakes, and looks to see Wade making pancakes and _coffee_. He looks to his room, briefly, and the door is still closed, which is good.

Peter walks over to the breakfast bar, where Wade has placed two place settings with coffee, Peter’s one true love, and sits down. 

“Morning.” Wade says cheerfully. 

“Morning.” Peter yawns, and looks to his coffee mug, which is filled, and he doesn’t even care that it’s black and that’s not how he takes it, and downs a huge gulp. He wrinkles his nose at the taste, and rises, getting creamer out of the fridge. He dumps a few spoonfuls worth into it, and grabs sugar from the cupboard above the coffee pot, and spills three packets into the tanning liquid. He sips it again, finding it much more agreeable, and sits back down.

“I take it you’re one of those people who are monosyllabic prior to coffee.”

“I am.” Peter says, as Wade places a plate filled with pancakes in front of him. “Thank you. For making breakfast. And staying.”

“You’re welcome.” Wade responds, and finishes cooking his pancakes, turns the burner off, and joins Peter at the counter. His own cup of coffee is black, Peter notices, and files it away for future use. “I’m glad I stayed, too.”

They eat breakfast in silence, and when Peter glances at the clock, it’s only six-thirty.

“You get up early.” Peter says.

“Habit drilled into me courtesy of the military. Couldn’t shake it off after the discharge.” Wade explains.

“Mhm. Normally I’m up at seven and I leave for work at seven forty-five, but on the weekends I’m dead to the world until ten, maybe later.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.” Peter grins, and clinks their coffee cups together. Wade smiles, and kisses Peter’s cheek, which only makes Peter smile more.

They clean up together, Wade washing and Peter drying and putting away, because he knows where everything is. By the time they finish up, it’s seven-fifteen, and Peter needs to get to work on time, so he tells Wade such.

“Alright. I have stuff I gotta get done early today, so I’ll see you later, and, oh, we still on for brunch tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, “I’ll meet you outside the building at nine?”

“Nine is fine.” Wade rhymes, walking towards the door.

“Great.” Peter follows Wade to the door, and kisses him goodbye.

“See you then, Peter.” Wade pulls Peter in, and holds him in a hug. Peter relaxes into the embrace, then shrugs out of it. “I really have to get ready. You know J.J.”

“That I do.” Wade agrees, and turns towards the door again.

“Toodles.” Wade grins at that, and leaves. 

 

* * *

 

It all goes to hell that night.

Peter just wanted to get to bed early. It’s ten pm, much earlier than Peter is normally in bed, but as he listens to his police radio, they begin talking about an armed robbery at a bank - _why is it always a bank_ \- and how the perpetrators had shot two people, seriously injuring them, and were last seen escaping, heading towards Central Park. There have been perimeters set up, the radio reports, which will only aid Peter in his quest.

He pulls on his suit, hoping to God that he doesn’t see Wade because that would simply be the icing on the cake.

He climbs quietly out his window, and swings out through the city, hurrying to get to Central Park. His spidey-sense tingles as he nears, and he drops into a tall oak tree. There are three who’ve made their way into a part of the park that is extremely secluded, which is an optimal occurrence considering the fight that will happen.

The men running through the paths, one holding a duffel bag, the two others holding large guns. 

_Great_. Guns cause infinitely more damage and healing from them, even with his advanced healing, sucks ass. No better time than the present, so he shoots a web out in front of them and drops down behind them.

One of the gun-toting goons immediately reacts, and shoots out at Peter, who narrowly misses being hit, _thank you very much, spidey-sense_. Peter shoots out another web, and pulls the gun out of the hands of goon number one, who yells out in anger:

“Motherfucker, you better watch your ass!”

“Actually, I prefer being called Spiderman, and my pronouns are _your highness_.” Peter snarks back, and dodges another bullet from goon number one, who slowly advances forward. The one with the duffel bag hangs back, and pushes the other goon forward to help number one with finishing Peter off, or so he assumes.

This _might’ve_ not been the best idea. Peter’s costume is not the most protective, even with the cup - _oh, shut up_ \- and getting hit with bullets fucking sucks. 

“I’mma come for ya!” Goon One shouts, and shoots another three bullets at him, and Peter decides that it’s time to gain the upper ground and tries to shoot out a web and -

_Shit! Shit_. 

His canisters are empty. Peter’s heart freezes. He was going to fill them up this morning, but then Wade was over and he had to go to work and he’s dead. Peter is so dead. If he tries to scale a tree, he’ll get shot down. If he runs, he looks like a coward. Better to live a coward than die a hero, right? 

No. Peter shakes the thought from his head. He won’t let these men hurt any others. That isn’t how it works with great power. Peter needs to fight. So he takes a breath, and lets the thoughts clear from his mind.

Goon One raises his gun again, but the clip is empty, thankfully, so he tosses it aside and rushes forward, and grapples with Peter. Peter gets pushed into the ground, and Goon One lands a punch on Peter’s face, right where the old bruise had just faded. He punches the opposite side of Peter’s jaw, and Peter winces in pain, and feels air hiss out of his mouth. Goon One lowers his arms and wraps his hands around Peter’s neck, and squeezes.

Peter’s legs kick out of their own accord, and his breathing becomes more labored.

Goon One is squeezing tighter and Peter’s arms are pinned and the only way for him to get out of this is to kick him in the back to get him off. 

Peter groans, a small stream of air exiting his mouth, and prepares to move his legs when his spidey-sense starts blaring, and Goon Two steps forward and presses the muzzle of the gun against Peter’s skull.

“Move and I shoot your fucking brains out.” Goon Two says, and takes the safety off the gun.

Peter attempts to cock his head at Goon Two. 

This is how it ends, being held down and at gunpoint by Goons. He breathes out. And in.

And brings his knees up and in, forcing Goon One over his shoulders.

Peter springs up.

The gun explodes where Peter’s head had been, and Good One gets knocked to the ground by the force of Peter’s leap up, and stays down. Peter turns to Duffel Bag, but he’s gone.

Peter loses sight of Goon Two, and in that moment realizes Duffel Bag has been gone for the whole encounter. He’s brought back the base of his skull lights on fire with a throbbing, when he hears the click of the gun’s trigger go off, and things seem to happen in slow motion.

God, Peter really wishes Wade were here to get him out of this. 

One, Goon Two is standing in front of him, _directly in front of him_ , and Peter didn’t even move - didn’t even notice in his daze. 

Two, there is a flash of red in front of him.

Three, there is the sound of bullets hitting flesh.

And four, the Goons are running away.

Peter’s heart is hammering in his chest, and his breathing is heavy.

Deadpool is in front of him, or rather, below him, and is dead.

Deadpool, _Wade_ , is dead. There’s a bullet hole in his head, his abdomen, his right and left shoulders, and his calf.

“Wade!” Peter shouts, and there are tears streaming down his face, _when did that happen?_ “ _Wade, you have to wake up!_ You have to come back to me! We’re supposed to have brunch, it can’t end like this!” And Peter knows, he _knows_ that Wade has an insane healing factor, but what if this is the time that it doesn’t work? What if Wade dies and Peter never gets to tell him the truth? Peter pulls off his Spiderman mask, and kneels over Wade.

He takes off Wade’s mask.

Aside from the bullet hole, which is bloody and has spewed brain matter onto the pavement, Wade’s face is much like he described. The skin Peter had seen of his jaw continues around his head, it is worn, scarred skin, reddened by blood, and is working itself together.

“Wade.” Peter gasps, and hears Wade inhale, which is a raspy, uncomfortable sound.

“P- Peter? _Peter?_ ” Wade looks incredibly confused. “Why’re you dressed up like, like Spiderman?” And then a light in his eyes. “Holy _shit_ , you’re Spiderman! _You could’ve told me_ \- I wouldn’t have-” Wade reaches up, and feels his face, bare. “Where’s my mask?”

Peter holds it up, guiltily. “I-” He bites his lip.

“You’re not running away.” Wade sounds amazed. 

“I told you I wouldn’t, didn’t I?” Peter tells him, and cuts him off with a searing kiss. Wade eases himself up, continuing the kiss, and wraps his arms around Peter’s neck.

“Ah, _ow!_ ” Peter exclaims. “I was being choked out by Goon One. How bad are the bruises?”

“Baby boy, you’re face is rainbow, and your neck is mostly purple and yellow.” Peter winces at that statement.

“I’m really glad I don’t have work tomorrow.” Peter chuckles, and ducks his head into Wade’s shoulder, momentarily forgetting the blood there.

“I’m really glad, too. How else would we have brunch?”

“You... you still want to go to brunch?” Peter questions.

“Hell yeah. There’s this cute brunette with a great ass who really likes me, and who I happen to adore, and we made plans. I don’t break plans.” Wade gazes up at Peter, and if he wasn’t already kneeling, his knees would go weak.

“I’ve been told that that brunette adores you too.” Peter smiles, and kisses Wade again.

“Good, good. We should get home now. I need a place to heal up.”

“Mine? You’ve already stitched me up, so it’s only fair. Plus, I’ll even let you sleep in my bed.”

“My hero.” Wade swoons, then laughs. “Oh, that _hurt_.”

“Then stop laughing.” Peter says, not meaning it in the slightest.

“I don’t think I can. I’m too happy.”

“I love you.” The words fall out of Peter’s mouth, taking him, and judging by the look on Wade’s face, him too, by surprise. “I mean it.” 

Wade kisses him silly - all over Peter’s lips, nose, forehead, eyes, avoiding his injured cheeks.

“I love you too, web-head.”

 

* * *

 

When J.J. walks into work the following Monday morning, he sees in his office a string of web with a note attached to it. It reads:

_J.J. -_

_I realize that you’ve been putting my photographer, P. Parker, in an unfortunate situation by trying to force him to write an editorial focusing on Deadpool and how he is a Menace with a capital M. I know you do not like me, but nonetheless, I won’t have you trying to talk shit about Deadpool. He saved my life on Friday night, and without him, the city would not be as safe as it is. Deadpool is a protector of this city, just as I am, and you can’t do anything about that._

_If you continue to talk shit about either Deadpool or I, I cannot guarantee your safety. Deadpool on any given day is a dangerous man if insulted, and to insult him or me, his boyfriend, is a fate worse than you can imagine._

_\- Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman_

_P.S. - Parker quits. Eat ass. _

**Author's Note:**

> listened to Game of Love by Santana ft. Michelle Branch repeatedly while writing this. Such an excellent song.
> 
> [tumblr](http://hurricanekid.tumblr.com/)


End file.
